Chapter 3
The rhythmic click of heels against the private elevator landing sent a shockwave through the penthouse. Neither Marcus nor Elena moved. The city skyline outside the glass windows seemed to blur into a streak of neon apathy as the gravity of the moment settled in. Someone was in the building—someone who bypassed the lobby security, someone with a keycard encoded for the penthouse level.
"Did you invite someone?" Elena asked, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. Her eyes darted from the heavy oak foyer door back to Marcus, whose face had gone completely bloodless.
"No," Marcus answered, his voice barely audible over the low hum of the refrigerator. He instinctively took a step back from the table, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Nobody has the override code except..." He stopped, swallowing hard.
"Except who, Marcus?" Elena demanded, stepping around the table to put herself between him and the hallway. "Who else has access to our home?"
Before Marcus could answer, the double doors of the foyer clicked open. The security chime didn't sound because the system had been deactivated from the inside. A slender silhouette stepped out of the private elevator vestibule, framed by the dim warm lighting of the hallway. As the figure moved into the living area, Elena’s breath caught in her throat.
It was a woman wearing a tailored charcoal suit, her dark hair pulled back into a sharp, flawless chignon. She carried a sleek leather portfolio under one arm and walked with the absolute, unshakeable confidence of someone who owned the building, the city, and everyone inside it.
It was Sarah.
Elena staggered backward, her hip striking the edge of the dining table. She looked from the living woman standing ten feet away back to Marcus, who looked like he was witnessing an apparition rising from a freshly dug grave.
"Surprise, Marcus," Sarah said, her voice smooth, chillingly calm, and entirely devoid of the warmth one would expect from a ghost returning from the dead. She glanced at the half-eaten dinner plates and the glowing smartphone on the table. "I see you haven't lost your appetite, despite ruining three lives."
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"You're dead," Elena whispered, her voice shaking as she pointed a trembling finger at the intruder. "We went to your funeral. I picked out the black dress you were buried in."
Sarah offered a cold, polite smile, stepping closer to the marble dining table. "Funerals are such expensive, theatrical productions, aren't they? Especially when you need to disappear from federal investigators with five million dollars in your pocket."
